My Life as a White Trash Zombie

Chapter 11

“Angel. Angel? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Blue and red lights flickered across my vision, bouncing off the broken glass littering the highway and casting bizarre shadows as highway workers pulled the tree out of the road. The crackle of radios mixed with the buzz of conversation in an excited white noise that made it tough to concentrate on any one thing. The metal of the van was warm on my back, and I found myself pressing against it in a vain attempt to keep the slight chill in the air from seeping into me. Mist was beginning to form in the swamp, slowly creeping out onto the road to give the entire scene a surreal and far-too-spooky feel. I was just attacked by a zombie, I thought sourly. I don’t need the horror movie special effects, thank you very much.

I dragged my gaze away from the swamp and back to the paramedic crouched in front of me. “Three,” I replied. I was tempted to make a smartass remark but managed to resist. Even if I’d had a concussion right after the accident, I was fairly positive I didn’t have one now. And the last thing I needed was to be kept out of work for any longer than necessary.

The paramedic made a low noise in his throat and proceeded to shine an annoying light into my eyes. He looked familiar and a glance at his nametag confirmed it. Quinn. Oh, right. Ed Quinn. The paramedic who’d worked on me when I overdosed.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” I said, making myself give him a wry smile. I didn’t feel much like smiling, wryly or otherwise, but I figured I’d make as good a show as possible of being all right. “At least I have clothing on this time,” I added. Yeah, much better to make a joke out of that last horrible time. Not that I remembered any of it. Then again, that made it easier to laugh it off.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I could say something really inappropriate here, but I’ll be good.” He peered at my forehead. “That cut doesn’t look very big, and it’s not bleeding anymore. If you’re worried about a scar they can probably throw a few stitches onto that in the ER.”

I already knew I didn’t need to worry about scars, but I gave him a small nod anyway.

He patted me lightly on the shoulder. “Looks like you got out of this one with only a couple of cuts. Good thing you were wearing your seatbelt.”

“Damn straight,” I said, and I didn’t have to fake the note of fervor in my voice. Maybe I wouldn’t have died, but I probably would have been too messed up to fight the zombie off.

Zombie. Holy shit. I managed to hold in the shudder of horror until Ed turned away. I didn’t need him thinking I was going into shock or anything like that. Though in a way I kinda felt like I was. Is that what I have to look forward to?

There were advantages, though. Right? I mean, the whole “eat brains and heal up” thing could come in pretty handy. Plus there was that whole business about being strong and fast—as long as I was tanked up on brains.

So, yeah, this whole thing had its moments.

But, damn, I could do without the hunger. I had a bit of a stash at home right now—enough to get me through at least a week, I hoped. And if I was out of work for longer than that, then what? How long could I go without brains? Not two weeks, that was for sure. I’d already figured out that the more active I was, the faster I got hungry—which made sense in a way. But how much of my stash would I go through to get me back to normal?

A deputy crouched beside me, and I stiffened automatically when I saw that it was Marcus Ivanov. For a stupid instant I wondered if the guy was stalking me, then instantly dismissed the thought as completely retarded. I hadn’t even seen him since that day we’d all gone to breakfast. St. Edwards Parish wasn’t very big, which meant there weren’t that many road deputies. It made sense that I’d see him more than every now and then.

He gave me a tight smile that didn’t come anywhere near his eyes. “Angel, I need you to tell me as much as you can remember about the accident.”

I let out a breath and forced myself to chill. I was the victim this time. So what if I felt like I was going into an interrogation? “Sure, though there’s not much to tell,” I said. “I was driving. I came around the curve and saw a tree in the road. I hit it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you see anyone?”

I hesitated. “I thought the tree was a person at first. Then I realized it was only a branch sticking up. Why?”

He pursed his lips briefly and looked back toward the tree that was still partially in the road. “It looked like someone deliberately dragged that tree onto the highway. There are footprints and scuff marks.” He paused and returned his gaze to me. “And dirt on the van door.”

My pulse thudded as my mind raced. I hadn’t said anything to anyone about the zombie trying to get the body bag, for obvious reasons. But if there was physical evidence that someone had caused the accident, would they get suspicious if I didn’t say anything?

“That’s fucked up,” I finally managed. “I’m pretty positive that tree wasn’t in the road when I was going the other way. I figured it fell or something.” I shook my head, and I didn’t have to fake the wince the motion caused. “Sorry. I was kinda rattled there right after it happened, y’know? Maybe the dirt was from someone checking to see if I was okay.” I gave a helpless shrug. “I dunno. It had to be random, right? I mean, why would anyone want me to crash?” I made myself laugh. “Unless they wanted to steal the body so they could make a monster.”

His expression grew tighter, if that was even possible. “It was probably some punks being stupid,” he said. Then he took a deep breath as if forcing himself calm. “I know you’re shaken now, but if you remember anything later on, that’ll help us find out who did this.”

“Fuckers,” Ed muttered as he jotted notes on his pad. “You could have been killed.”

“The whole situation is fucked,” Ivanov said. My stomach knotted at the vehemence in his voice. I thought he was angry at the idea that someone else had done this, but the paranoid side of me wasn’t sure if maybe part of it was directed at me. He knew me, knew my whole sordid history. Surely he thought I was somehow at fault. How could he not?

I looked away and blinked quickly at the flashing lights of the ambulance as stupid tears filled my eyes. Crap. Here I was getting all weepy because this deputy might think I was even more of an irresponsible piece of shit than I was. God, I was pathetic.

“Hey, dickhead, you’re upsetting my girlfriend,” Ed said with a not-so-gentle shove to Ivanov’s shoulder. “Cut it out.”

Ivanov leveled a scowl at Ed. “I’m sure Angel has higher standards than a jackass like you. Besides, the girlfriend you already have might have an issue with this.”

Ed merely gave a snort. “Yeah, well you’re doing your angry-scary-grouchy face. You keep doing that you’re going to get unsightly wrinkles.”

Ivanov blinked and gave me a sharp look, then his expression softened, much to my surprise. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re going to be fine. And we’ll find those asshole punks who did this.”

“I’m cool,” I said as I fought to get my emotions under control and maintain something vaguely resembling dignity. “Sorry.”

Ed smacked Ivanov on the back of the head. “Yeah,’cause I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t.”

Ivanov lifted a fist with a threatening snarl, and I sucked in a breath. His gaze flicked briefly to me, registering my shock, and he grinned and lowered his fist. “Sorry,” he said, and now I could see the laughter in his eyes. “Ed and I have known each other since we were kids. He thinks he can get away with battery on a police officer, and one of these days I’m gonna slap cuffs on his skinny ass.”

Ed merely smiled serenely. “And the next time you get a boo-boo in the line of duty, I’ll be sure to tell the ER folks that you’re too much of a man to need painkillers.”

The deputy snorted. “Speaking of, you need to stop dicking around and get her to the ER.”

“Get the hell out of my way, and I’ll do that,” Ed said with a glare at the deputy. Ivanov gave a low laugh, then gave me a wink as he stood and walked off. I stared after him for several seconds as I struggled to make sense of this side of the gruff deputy.

“He can be Mr. Grouchy Pants,” Ed said quietly, “but I think this time it was more worry than anything. We’ll get you checked out, and then everyone will be happier.”

“I’m not hurt that bad,” I insisted, even as I wondered if the deputy had really been worried about me. “All I need is a Band-Aid for my head.”

“You could be an extra in a slasher movie with all the blood you have on you,” Ed said, “but I’ll be damned if I can find any other cuts besides that one. You must have hit one hell of a bleeder.”

I gave what I hoped was a neutral shrug. “I feel all right. I really can’t afford to miss a bunch of work.”

“I don’t know if you’ll be kept out of work, but since you were driving the Coroner van, I’m sure you’re going to have to do a urinalysis—a piss test.” He shrugged.

“Oh.” Shit. It had been weeks since I’d smoked that pot with Randy, and it’d been over a week since I’d taken any pills, so surely I was clean now, right? “Oh, yeah. Okay.” God, I hoped so. “But I really don’t need to ride on the stretcher, okay?”

Ed gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “If you can walk, that’s fine.”

I made it into the ambulance without falling over, then proceeded to worry about the piss test the entire way to the hospital. Would the drugs show up? Or worse, would the fact that I was a . . . a zombie? I had a feeling I was being stupid, but at least it managed to distract me from all of the other stuff on my mind. Maybe someday I wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Wouldn’t that be a shock.

When we got to the ER, Ed hopped out then gave me a hand to help me down. I gave him my left without thinking, then had to bite back a yell of pain when he took hold of my arm to assist me. The crap on my arm had closed up all the way, but obviously it wasn’t totally healed.

“You gonna make it?” he asked, peering at my face with worry. “You just went pale. I can put you on the stretcher if you need it.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m cool. Sorry. Probably straightened too fast.” I pulled away from his grasp as gently as I could, trying to not be obnoxious about jerking my arm away or anything. I sure as shit didn’t want anyone to know about the arm thing. If they x-rayed it and saw that it was still kinda broken, I’d definitely be out of work for a while. I simply had to make it until I got home, and then I could down a Percocet or. . . .

I scowled to myself. No. No painkillers for me. None of that shit worked on me anymore. That sucked ass.

Brains instead. I sighed. Too fucking weird.

Ed somehow managed to cut through the usual procedures, and I was settled into an exam room within a few minutes. The nurse came in and I nearly flinched when I recognized her as the bitchy redhead from the last time I was here. I kept waiting for her to start in with the snide looks, but she merely took my vitals and left.

“Hate that fuckin’ bitch,” Ed muttered, and I had to stifle a bark of laughter. He gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I got bit by a dog last year, and she was so nasty it was as if she thought I deserved to get bit.”

I wanted to respond, but the door opened and half the Coroner’s Office poured in. At least it seemed that way. In reality it was only Derrel and Allen Prejean, followed by—to my enormous shock—the coroner, Dr. Duplessis. But none of the men were small, and the already tiny room seemed suddenly overcrowded.

Ed gave my arm a squeeze—the unbroken one, thankfully. “Take care of yourself, Angel. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather not meet you like this again.”

I grinned. “I’m cool with that.”

He gave me a parting smile, then left me to fend off a barrage of questions from the three remaining men.